


you are one of mine

by marginaliana



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Non-Human Character, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Chroma Conclave, Power Dynamics, but not dragon, referenced potential Gilmore/Vax
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:19:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28761681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana
Summary: In Thordak's lair, when the battle was over, Devo'ssa had murmured something quietly as they set Gilmore down. "If you should return to Marquet, I would be very pleased to see you."
Relationships: Shaun Gilmore/J'mon Sa Ord
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	you are one of mine

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to exandriantrashpanda for the beta.

J'Mon's bare feet were silent on the floor of their chamber. Gilmore stood without speaking, letting them circle him, trying not to hold his breath. The room hummed faintly with power and he found his heartbeat falling into its rhythm. 

"You came," J'Mon said at last, coming to a stop in front of him. Gilmore nodded. He almost hadn't; one didn't leave one's continent and change one's name with the intention of popping back every third Grissen. He did visit his parents on occasion, of course, but he hadn't been to Ank'Harel in years.

Yet there had been that moment, in Thordak's lair in Emon when that battle was over. Gilmore had gone to his lord, full of questions; Devo'ssa had lifted him in their claw, brought him close to their face so they could speak. 

And when the conversation was broken, Devo'ssa had murmured something quietly as they set Gilmore down again. "If you should return to Marquet, I would be very pleased to see you."

How could he not come, with an offer like that? 

"You are one of mine," J'Mon said now. The meaning seemed unmistakable. 

Gilmore shivered. He had not been anyone's in a long time. There had been potential, with Vax – but even then it had been clear that Vax wanted to _be kept_ far more than he wanted to keep. They could have been good together, but they could not have been this. 

He wanted this. 

J'Mon's long finger touched his forehead; Gilmore felt the rune flare under the touch. For a moment his heart sank, thinking _that_ to be his value, but their finger moved on quickly, tracing his brow and cheek, down to his lips. Daringly, he kissed J'Mon's fingertip. 

"Lovely," said J'Mon. "Or should I say 'glorious?'"

Gilmore laughed, but he knew he was blushing, too. "If you like, my lord."

J'Mon hooked a finger under one of Gilmore's necklaces, tugging him a little closer. 

"There are many things I would like. May I have them?"

" _Yes_ ," Gilmore said; what need did he have for deception under this molten gaze?

J'Mon's mouth came to meet his, the kiss soft and graceful. Gilmore leaned into it, keeping his eyes open. He let his lips part a little, an invitation, and was rewarded with a warm, delicate brush of tongue. J'Mon tasted of meat and citrus, like the scent of Ank'Harel's markets carried on the wind. Gilmore breathed in.

Their hands cupped his face as they deepened the kiss, still delicate but warmer now, meeting his gaze with eyes bright and fond. Gilmore gave himself over to it, letting himself be guided by their thumbs beneath his jaw and their fingers at the back of his neck. The tie of his ponytail was worked undone; out of the corner of his eye Gilmore saw it flutter away in a flash of purple. J'Mon's fingers carded through his hair. 

He put his hands on J'Mon's waist and pulled them closer. He had no idea what to expect of their body but there was heat underneath the cotton of their tunic, muscles wiry with strength. J'Mon let out a soft, luxurious sigh and scratched at Gilmore's scalp with their fingertips.

The kiss lasted minutes, hours – J'Mon's eyes heavy-lidded as they watched him, wrapped around Gilmore like smoke. At last they broke the kiss and their hot, smooth hands stroked his cheeks, sliding down his jaw to his throat, down further to the place where his robes parted. 

J'Mon's skin was burnished dark red, almost glowing where their hands rested against Gilmore's darker skin. Long fingers began unfastening the buttons of his robe. Gilmore shivered and tightened his grip on their waist to steady himself until everything was undone. J'Mon slid their hands up to his shoulders and under the edge of the fabric; Gilmore let go obediently, the robe slipping off his shoulders to the floor. J'Mon hummed, stroking Gilmore's now-bare chest and stomach. 

After a moment they took his hand and led him to the chair in the center of the room. Or, not a chair – a throne. _The_ throne.

"My lord," Gilmore gasped. "I cannot—"

"Can you not?" said J'Mon, raising one eyebrow. "If I wish it?" They smiled. "It's only a chair, in the end."

Gilmore could hardly deny the truth of that, and after a squeeze of J'Mon's hand he let himself be pushed gently into the seat. J'Mon knelt. There was nothing crude about them on their knees, nothing debased. They looked, instead, as if they were graciously awaiting a gift; perhaps, Gilmore thought, they were. After a moment one of their long hands wrapped around his ankle, lifting it, cupping the heel of his foot and tugging off his sandal, seemingly unworried by the sand that had inevitably gathered there. Gilmore sucked in a breath and stretched his leg out to make it easier. 

The second sandal followed, carefully set aside with the first, and then J'Mon reached up to his waist; Gilmore lifted his hips and let J'Mon remove his leggings, and then he was bare entirely. He shivered. J'Mon smiled, tilting their head back, and Gilmore could almost swear he saw the echo of burning wings rising up to envelop the throne. Warmth gathered. 

"My lord," said Gilmore. "Are you intending to—"

J'Mon took Gilmore's cock in their hand.

" _Oh_ — apparently you are."

J'Mon huffed out a laugh and stroked him slowly. "Do I not serve this land as much as I am served?" they asked.

"I've been gone from this land for a long time." Gilmore's voice shook. 

"But you are still one of mine."

Gilmore swallowed, feeling heat flush over him. He reached down with one hand to J'Mon's face, something he never would have thought to do before now, and curled his palm over the elegant red-gold shape of their cheek. "Will you, then?" he asked.

J'Mon's smile was feral but fond. "I would be delighted."

They leaned into his hand, eyelids curtsying closed and nostrils flaring as they breathed in his scent. Their lips touched the tip of his cock, delicately enough that he could barely feel it, but that lasted only a second before their tongue unfurled from their mouth and trailed over him. It was longer than any he'd seen before, decidedly not human or elf or anything like, and it was hot – gods, it was nearly hot enough to burn. Gilmore moaned, clenching one hand on the arm of the throne and caressing J'Mon's face with the other. 

Their eyes came open again at the sound, gaze fastening on his face with hard, sharp pleasure. Gilmore moaned again as their tongue wrapped around his cock entirely, one full circle of touch. Then Gilmore choked out a curse as J'Mon opened their mouth further and took him in with one smooth movement. 

Gilmore threw his head back, hitting the throne with a thump; the pain served only to ground him against the sweetness of his lord's mouth. J'Mon's tongue still circled him and they stroked his cock with it even as they sucked. It felt like fingers and mouth working him all at once, slickness and heat and tension and friction, too many sensations to identify them all. Gilmore thought he might weep with the pleasure of it.

His hair was thick with sweat now. He stroked the corner of J'Mon's mouth with his thumb, feeling a surge of delicious sacrilege at the way it stretched around his cock. J'Mon flattened their palms against his thighs, stroking the skin there, pressing his legs further open so that they could take his cock deeper. Gilmore's fingers scraped across the arm of the throne. He would not last long like this. "My lord," he gasped. 

J'Mon did not seem inclined to hold back. They pressed their fingernails into the soft insides of his thighs, goading him closer. Gilmore groaned, thrusting upwards despite all his respectful intentions; it was too good a feeling for him to keep control. He half expected J'Mon to pull away, to chastise him, but all they did was dig in their fingernails once again.

It was enough. Heat bloomed through him like fire in Marquet's desert brush, a brief instant of warning smoke and then beautiful, sweet flame, thick and bright. Gilmore arched up again and came with a choked moan that was almost a sob.

J'Mon worked him through it, their tongue tightening around Gilmore's cock, wringing the last of the pleasure from him. Their eyes seemed to blaze gold as they swallowed. Gilmore caught his breath at the feeling, then caught it again when they pulled back, tongue lapping at him to gather the few remaining droplets. Their nostrils flared again.

"Gods," said Gilmore. His chest was heaving. "That—" He was unused to being lost for words, even in moments like this. J'Mon looked smug, the expression hanging oddly on his face. Gilmore snorted. "Did you doubt yourself?" he asked.

"I am a being, as any other being," said J'Mon. Their mouth quirked up on one side. 

"As this chair is a chair," said Gilmore, but he pressed his fingertips to J'Mon's mouth. "May I—"

"I take my pleasure in other ways," they said, leaning up to kiss him. "You have given it to me already."

"I'm glad." He was – more than he could express. 

J'Mon reached for Gilmore's clothes and began to dress him again, leggings then sandals, putting them on with as much care as they'd removed them. They stood, pulling Gilmore to his feet, reaching for his discarded robe and draping it about his shoulders. Gilmore put his arms into their sleeves, left and then right. He let J'Mon do up the buttons. They slid their hands up over the edges of the robe, straightening it, then further up to the underside of his jaw. They looked at him for a long moment.

"Turn?" they said.

Gilmore did so obediently and was rewarded with their hands in his hair, fingers combing out the tangled strands. The tie for his hair was gone somewhere in the room, but J'Mon deftly parted the locks and twisted them together in some pattern that Gilmore could not follow. When J'Mon stepped back Gilmore reached up to touch his hair and found that it was bound into a complex knot. He wondered if he'd ever be able to replicate it. Perhaps Vax could help. 

Perhaps… not Vax.

J'Mon took his hand and drew him around again. They did not let go. Gilmore looked down to where their fingers curled around his, their skin like warm sand against his own thick ochre.

"The next time you are in Marquet," J'Mon said, "come to me." Demand more than offer, this time.

"I will," said Gilmore.

They leaned in and kissed him again, soft and full of promise. "Farewell for now, then," they said, letting go of his hand. "And remember that you are one of mine."

"Farewell," Gilmore said, and turned away, but when he reached the door he let himself look back. J'Mon was still watching him, and Gilmore knew that, like the warmth in his fingers, the sight of their eyes would stay with him for a long, long time.


End file.
